


Tea for Two

by Delphi



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossdressing, Drama, F/M, Flirting, Gen, Law Enforcement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 02:22:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/Delphi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Beifong is an Auror who prefers trousers to skirts and Moody is Moody.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea for Two

Long linen drawers. Socks and garters. Vest.

The shirt buttons itself with a pass of her hand. Trousers slide smoothly up her legs, the belt whipping through the loops. 

Tie. Braces. Waistcoat. Cufflinks. Wand.

She steps into her boots and shrugs on her over-robe, cinching it tightly in the middle. Armoured for the day.

* * *

The moment Lin made senior agent and could officially tell half the department to go to hell, she traded in the required riding skirt for trousers. 

She strode into the office to the stares of all. Their expressions flickered by her: widening eyes, rising eyebrows, and narrowing mouths. 

The silence stretched into discomfort as she made her way to her cubicle, and then Moody went ahead and snapped it:

"Beifong! I can see your whatnots!"

It was a soft lob, and he knew it, and she knew it. 

"They're called legs, Moody," she said. "Some of us have got the full set."

A snigger ran around the room, and she caught the brief flash of Moody's gap-toothed smile as she put her feet up defiantly on her desk.

* * *

"So if I took you dancing," Moody says one night at the pub, having bought her a firewhisky after work, "would you put on a pretty set of dress robes?"

"I would rather chew off my own arm than go dancing with you."

"Hypothetical, then."

"I would chew off my hypothetical arm."

"Tsk. You wound me, Beifong. Not back with that pansy-arsed vegetarian, are you?"

She sips her drink. "Trousers are more functional."

"Not arguing that," Moody says. "I'm talking general-like."

She signals for the next round. "What is it with men and their need to see women in skirts? The last three times I was mentioned in the Prophet, they wrote me up as clad-in-trousers-comma-Lin-Beifong."

"Hogwarts. Six and a half years of those baggy black robes. Then there's the seventh year Yule Ball..." Moody's hands shape the unmistakable curves of cleavage and hoop skirts. "...and all the girls turn up in their ruffles and curls."

"I didn't go to the Yule Ball," Lin says darkly. "My mother was chaperoning. She was the substitute Defence teacher that year."

"Bad luck," Moody says. "I can tell you what every girl at mine was wearing. I could probably even give you Druella Rosier's measurements." He waggles his eyebrows.

Her eyes roll. "You couldn't have paid me enough to get into dress robes anyhow."

"What about to get you out of them?"

"Pig."

He gives her a once-over. "Says the woman with her lovely pins on display for all to see. Have you at least got some scanties on underneath?"

"I've never worn 'scanties' in my life." She imbues the word with all the distaste it deserves.

"That right?" Moody says, and he finishes his drink. Then he hooks a thumb in the waistband of his trousers, pulling just far enough for her to catch a flash of violet lace. He grins at her dumb stare. "Don't know what you're missing."


End file.
